


Ninety-Nine One-Shots about the Ninety-Ninth Precinct

by tiredperalta



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Love Confessions, Multi, Prison, Prompt Fill, Self Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-05-29 15:12:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15075890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiredperalta/pseuds/tiredperalta
Summary: Ninety-Nine One-Shots written about the Ninety-Ninth precinct.(Leave your prompts in the comments section)





	1. Will You Be Home Tonight? (I'll Wait For You)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "A phone call"
> 
>  
> 
> _(Or the moon watches Jake who can't stop working as he feels the need to atone, to make sense of the world around him. At least he has Amy.)_

The phone rings. It has been ringing since four pm that afternoon. The man is yet to answer it.

An oddly cold June 13th moves casually into June 14th without much notice, the only acknowledgement that time has passed at all is a small sigh from a man, writing in an empty room. The clock ticks from 11:59 pm to midnight. Far in the distance, the Moon shivers as it watches the man scrawl words onto paper. The Moon sighs, powerless to the cold distance between them. The Moon looks again as it begins to rain – slowly at first and then a powerful onslaught of water that threatens to smother anyone brave enough to walk in its path.

The man doesn’t notice the rain. He continues to write.

The man looks around. In the maze of empty desks and empty chairs, he feels overwhelmingly alone. A gust of wind flies in from an open window and the man pulls his jacket closer around himself like a butterfly hiding in a cocoon. He subconsciously clutches at the badge hanging around his neck and feels the cold resistance of metal against his fingertips. He hasn’t slept in over 72 hours and he’s surviving off will-power alone.

The phone rings again. The man glances down and sees the familiar face of the woman he loves.

He ignores it.

The Moon is surprised.

The man stops writing and studies the desk in front of him. A cold cup of coffee was placed on his desk at exactly 6:14 am that morning but he hasn’t had any of it and now it resigns to staring accusingly at him. Next to it, a pile of paperwork decorated with errors and mistakes stands, threatening to topple at any moment. His holster and gun have been haphazardly dropped into an open drawer beside him and a wedding ring resides neatly on top.

The man's eyes soften as they come to rest on the ring.

The phone rings again.

The man answers.

The Moon waits.

 _“You’re still not home,”_ the voice says and the accusation reverberates around the room.

 _“Obviously not,”_ the man responds - it’s not the answer he wanted to give. The Moon scoffs.

 _“Are you going to be home tonight?”_ the voice tries again.

The man runs a hand through the mass of curls on his head and says: _“probably not.”_

The voice down the phone sighs and the man thinks, if he tries really hard, he can imagine exactly what the owner of the voice looks like at that exact moment. She’ll be lying on their sofa, drinking herbal tea and watching _Jeopardy_ as she always does when she’s stressed. She’ll be braiding and unbraiding her hair as she waits for him to come home, waits for him to answer her calls. She’ll be wearing one of his jumpers and clutching at their duvet as if her life depended on it. She’ll be asleep in less than an hour and wake to an empty house and a pain in her neck where she substituted the warmth of their bed for the old cushions of the sofa.

She’ll be worried and stressed and he can’t even get the words out to apologise.

Her voice softens.

_“Do you want me to join you?”_

In a past life, the man would have said no. He would have objected. He would have told her to sleep. He would have run into the precinct’s bathroom at 4:35 am, washed his face, changed into his field shirt and greeted everyone when they walked through precinct doors as if he hadn’t just spent the night at work. He would have text her and asked her to bring him a coffee on the way. She would have asked him if he went home at all. He would have said yes. He didn’t love her yet.

He doesn’t know that man anymore. That man, the Moon thinks, died a long time ago in the wake of misfortunes and misplaced trust, too long undercover, too long in Florida, too long behind bars.

This man – this new man – says _“yes, please”_ and feels the need to stay on the phone until she arrives. She asks him questions, partly to distract him and partly to distract herself. She asks: _“How's the case?”_ and _“when are we visiting your mom?”_ and _“are we babysitting Nikolaj at the weekend?”_ and _“did Terry agree to cover my sergeant role when we’re on our honeymoon?”_

(The Moon knows that the answers, respectively, are: _‘the case is awful;’ ‘we’re seeing her next weekend;’ ‘we’re babysitting from 7 pm’_ and _‘I forgot to ask him’_ but the man somehow can’t bring himself to answer any of them like someone’s pressed the mute button and left him breathless.)

He listens to her soft, sleep-filled tone as she talks and drives. He continues writing.

The Moon watches her drive along endless streets, stopping neatly at red lights and indicating at junctions. She’s wearing NYPD sweats and one of his plaid shirts and her glasses threaten to slip off her nose at any second and she immediately regrets not bringing an umbrella as the rain pours outside.

She finally asks _“is it bad? This time I mean,”_ but he doesn’t reply.

(The answer is yes, it is bad. When he blinks he sees faces he’s long tried to forget and he’s had two panic attacks and can’t stop writing, stop working because he desperately needs to atone, to fix things.)

She tries again: _“what triggered this, babe?”_ but he doesn’t reply.

(The answer is a prison. It’s always fucking prison but the precinct bullpen is the most accessible open area he knows in contrast to the four by four-metre room he resigned to in prison so it makes him feel a little better.)

She tries again: _“have you slept at all?”_ but he doesn’t reply.

(The answer to that one is no. He sat in their lounge the last two nights, just listening to her snore lightly from the other room. He finished work at 4 pm but he’s yet to leave the precinct and he refuses to sleep on the break-room sofa.)

She stops asking questions and starts talking instead. She talks about her brother’s wedding and her perfect passport photo and the medal she’s getting from the commissioner and the new pillowcases she’s ordered and a perp she arrested and a new book she bought.

(And he’s eternally grateful just to listen until he interrupts and says in a throaty voice _“the way you arrested that perp was badass”_ and he can practically feel her beaming down the phone.)

She’s just parked in the precinct garage when he says _“I’m sorry”_ and she remembers to breathe for the first time.

 _“It’s not your fault,”_ she says, _“don’t apologise.”_

He doesn’t look up from the desk as she arrives. He hears the bullpen elevator door open with a clunk and the gate unclasp as she walks in. He feels her presence before he sees her, feels one hand move into his hair and the other to the base of his neck.

He continues writing.

She places a kiss on the top of his head before leaning down to trace kisses down his face to his lips. She pulls him round in his desk chair and rests her forehead on his. She whispers his name.

He stops writing.

The Moon smiles.

_“Let’s go home, Jake.”_

_“Okay, Ames.”_

He reaches into his drawer and places the ring gently back on his finger.

They leave.


	2. Caged Like a Bird (I'll Scream and You'll Set Me Free)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Rosa and prison. We don't hear her side of it often" from @Valkyrie Cain.

Rosa Diaz is seven and she is not afraid yet.

She climbs trees with reckless abandon and rides her bike across steep ramps just because Tommy next door said she couldn't.

She argues with her sister and plays baseball with her father. She completes puzzles with her mother and dreams of owning a castle or at least a cool car.

She feels content and she’s not afraid of anything.

 

* * *

 

She is thirteen and she is not afraid yet.

She swaps her soccer shirt for a tutu and dreams of being famous. She tells her parents she wants to be a dancer and they grin from ear to ear.

She goes to classes and she’s a natural – she wins first or second and her parents take her out to dinner to celebrate.

She feels untouchable and she’s not afraid of anything.

 

* * *

 

She is sixteen and she is not afraid yet.

She tells her parents she wants to be a cop and their smiles fall.

Her mother says _“but what about dancing, or gymnastics?”_

Her father says _“as long as you’re happy, but this dream will not last long.”_

She takes it as a challenge and she promises herself she’ll do it, and she’ll do it well.

She feels determined and she’s not afraid of anything.

* * *

 

She is eighteen and she is not afraid yet.

She learns to ride a motorcycle and she drives for hours until her parents call her to come home.

She drives as fast as she can and as far as she can every day and spends her time cleaning, fixing, improving her bike.

She feels alive and she’s not afraid of anything.

 

* * *

 

She is twenty and she is not afraid yet.

She meets a man called Jake Peralta at the academy. He is two years older than her and wildly immature. He holds out a hand for her to shake on their first day and she notices he’s written reminders to himself in red pen along his arm. He offers her a candy from the bag he is clutching.

She instantly likes him.

They quickly learn he feels too much and she doesn’t feel much at all and the juxtaposition works so well that they’re drawn together like moths to a flame.

They shoot each other with tasers and drink beer after practical drills in the summer. They test each other for exams and sit next to each other when they graduate two years later.

She feels united and she’s not afraid of anything.

 

* * *

 

She is twenty-five and she is not afraid yet.

She transfers from the Five-Three to the Nine-Nine and is immediately smothered in a hug from a man hasn't seen since the academy - Jake Peralta. She goes to push him away but instead just grins. She's oddly missed him.

He shows her to her desk and around the precinct and introduces her to the squad. There’s Terry and Gina and Scully and Hitchcock. She meets Stevie, Jake’s uniformed partner.

They’re not a family yet but it sure is the making of one.

(Charles will join in the next month, Amy will join three years later. Holt will join four years after that and the family will gain a son, another daughter and a dad and the family will continue to grow.)

She feels safe and she is not afraid of anything.

 

* * *

 

She is thirty-four and she is afraid.

She was sure she wasn’t afraid of anything. She removes spiders from houses and sleeps happily in the dark. She’s comfortable with heights and knows the plane will land safely.

There's no need to fear anything, or anyone. At least that's what she tells herself, as she sobs into Jake's suit and feels metal clasp at her wrists.

She repeats it like a mantra as if grasping on to a lie might slow time, just long enough for her to grab Jake and to run as fast as they can to Pimento or Amy or somewhere - anywhere - else.

_There's no need to fear anything or anyone._

_There's no need to fear anything or anyone._

_There's no need to fear anything or any-_

She's pulled away suddenly and time stops.

 

* * *

 

She braces as she plummets back to Earth hours later. She’s sitting in the empty prison waiting-room, still wearing the too-tight, court-appropriate nightmare that is her outfit from the trial the day before and the metal handcuff is burning her wrist and every time she pulls away it cuts into her skin and the pain is distant, elsewhere, unimportant. The fear is instant, close, screaming.

(She thinks of Jake holding her hand, pulling her close, crying _'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll do better'_  over and over into her skin as they're pulled apart and the fear disperses for a minute.)

Time stops again and when she returns to consciousness she's in a cell with a woman threatening to kill her as she pushes her against the cold bars. The force moves the blade in her mouth and it scrapes against her cheek. She opens her mouth, feels blood spill into her mouth and she feels fear in full force. 

(She thinks of Gina whispering  _'we'll wait, we'll wait,'_ wrapping her arm around her growing stomach and she thinks of the Linetti baby destined for greatness and the fear disperses for a minute.)

Time stops again and she wakes from the haze in the showers, feeling the sudden loss of her favourite leather jacket and comfiest bra and the water burns her neck and drips in scars down her back but she lets it. She hears a scream from outside the hall and she feels nauseous thinking about what is causing it. 

(She thinks of Amy bringing her coffee on the morning of the trial with two sugars and extra cream - the way she likes it when she's stressed - and smiling at her across the table and the fear disperses for a minute.)

Time shifts again and when she returns she's in the lunch hall with a hand around her neck and a sharp shard in her side and someone sneering  _"you're gonna die, cop"_ and suddenly she feels searing pain and there's fear and panic clouding her vision and there's no space left for hope anymore.

There's no good anywhere and prison is hell and Rosa is afraid. 

* * *

 

(She'll return after eight weeks with a list of new fears, a therapist's phone number written on her hand and a new set determination in her eyes.)

  
She's thirty-four and she is not afraid anymore.


	3. It's Not a Walk in the Park to Love Each Other (Can't Deny You're Worth It)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Jake confessing that he loves Amy.
> 
> _(Or Jake is a panicky mess but the one thing he knows for certain is that he loves Amy Santiago.)_

Sometimes, Jake feels oddly empty on days when he doesn't see Amy. Which he knows is ridiculous and unreasonable because they're both adults and Amy has a busy life with people that are not him but it's still disconcerting nonetheless.

He’s thinking about how oddly empty his apartment is without someone telling him to pick up his socks or arguing whether to order Chinese or Polish takeout for dinner. He’s thinking about how he really can’t solve this stress and feels the beginning of a slump growing. He thinks of Amy running her hand through his hair and talking through cases with him.

But Amy’s just got back from a weekend refreshers course and she’s at her apartment going over her notes and she’s busy and he knows he’s being clingy. But he’s not entirely sure what’s fuelling the sudden panic that’s sat itself down in the base of his stomach and that worries him more than the slump.

He calls his mom because that’s his immediate response to any form of crisis.

She picks up immediately and proceeds to tell him about her new neighbours – _“one of them only has one leg!” –_ and listens to him talk about his current case, an old Jewish recipe he’s teaching Amy and Amy’s refresher course.

Karen Peralta has not failed him as of yet and, at exactly 10 pm, after listening to her son talk about Amy’s favourite coffee for twenty-two minutes, she subtly suggests that he might possibly be in love with Amy.

Which causes him to let out an expletive so foul that it has his mother threatening to wash his mouth out with soap.

She asks: _“have you told her you love her yet?”_

To which he says: _“God, no.”_

(Jake infamously has a bad relationship with love. The kind of relationship where if love was personified and he saw it on the street he’d cross to the other side and pretend to be on the phone just to avoid it. His therapist classed it as ‘daddy issues’ but that’s nothing new.)

He makes his excuses, sends his love and hangs up on his mom before immediately pulling his sneakers on. He knows he should pause, breath, change out of the Spiderman pyjamas he is wearing (because, you know, make a good impression and all that) but the realisation hits him hard and fast and he’s out the door, driving down empty roads and the darkened Brooklyn bridge under the flicker of street lamps.

(‘ _Oh God,’_ he thinks, ‘ _I love Amy Santiago.’_ )

He comes to the familiar brown door of her apartment all too soon and knocks solidly on it before he can change his mind.

It's 11:15pm and he stands fidgeting for exactly seventeen seconds before the door opens.

She looks confused and tired until she sees Jake. Her eyes soften and she smiles.

_“Bad night?”_ she asks gently.

_“No, I’m fine, we’re fine, right?”_

There’s a pause for a moment and he wishes the ground would swallow him whole.

_“Yeah, Jake, we’re fine, do you want to come in?”_

_“No, I, um, just came to talk quick.”_

_“You could have called me. Look, come inside before you freeze, babe.”_

She goes to turn away and opens the door further into the familiar apartment. She begins to walk into her apartment. He takes a deep breath.

_“You know I’m the worst idea you've ever had, right?"_ he asks quickly.

She stops still.

_"Sorry, what?"_

Jake swallows quickly.

_"You— Why me? Don't choose me. Anyone but me. I'm no good for you. I'm not good at this."_

He pales visibly and shifts uncomfortably on the spot.

_“Jake, babe, of course you’re good for me. What’s going on?”_

_"I love you.”_

The silence envelops them again and, in a panic, he turns to leave.

She tugs at his t-shirt and pulls him so he turns to look her in the eye.

_“I love you too, Jake.”_

And then he truly panics.

_"Shit, look, I forget birthdays and I can't remember important people's names,"_ he breathes quickly.

_"I know this already."_

_"I ignore people and I'm self-absorbed and I can't look after myself let alone someone else."_

_"Untrue."_

_"I don’t sleep enough and I don't eat healthily nearly enough and I might forget you exist when my dad’s around and I’ll cry a lot when he leaves - did you know that?"_

_"I didn’t know that, but that’s the point, I’ll learn."_

_"I panic a lot, often at night, and you’ll have to deal with all my panic attacks."_

_"I knew that one already."_

_"I survive off caffeine and I waste all my money on useless gimmicks and junk food and I’m always needy."_

_"So?”_

_"So? What do you mean so?"_ he laughs incredulously, "s _o! I’m not a good person, so, this-this is stupid. You need to let it go."_

He’s waving her hands around in the way he always does when he’s truly frustrated, gesticulating wildly in the middle of the night in an empty corridor to a woman who just doesn't understand. He thinks she must look ridiculous.

_"Do you want me to let it go?"_ Amy’s voice is quiet and it makes his heart hurt in a way he has felt all too often lately.

_"No but-"_

She grabs his hands.

_"Then I won't."_

For the first time in hours, he stops moving.

_"Why do you worry so much?"_ she asks gently, _“God, I love you.”_

_"You don't know what you're doing,"_ Jake says suddenly, feeling his hand pull away slightly almost of its own accord.

_"You're all I know now."_

_"You might hate it. You might hate me."_

_"I know I won't."_

_"I'll forget our anniversary. I'll have to meet your parents. I’ve lost that spare bag of clothes you left round mine and I’m worried I’ll do that with everything.”_

_"I’ll buy us a calendar, my parents will love you, we’ll organise your apartment next week. Now you love me can we go out to dinner sometimes?"_

_"Yeah. I mean, yeah, definitely. Proper dinners at, like, fancy restaurants. I’ll wear a suit."_

_"Nice, you’ll look like James Bond."_

He smiles.

_“I love you, Amy Santiago. I can say that now. I’m gonna say it in briefing tomorrow.”_

_“Don’t you dare.”_

_“Hello squad, I arrested this perp and here are the details and also I love Amy Santiago.”_

_“I’ll quit the force.”_

_“You wouldn’t, you love me too much.”_

She rolls her eyes and says _“I hate you.”_

Jake breaks into a grin that makes Amy just melt and he pulls her close, an arm around her waist and one on her neck, feels her hand move into his hair. He kisses her suddenly, feels her teeth clash against his as he whispers _I love you’s_ like a promise.

_"I'm really scared,"_ he says into her lips.

_"Yeah, me too."_

She pulls away, faces flushed and heart racing.

_“Are you wearing Spider-man pyjamas?”_

**Author's Note:**

> Leave ur prompts in the comments thank uuu <3


End file.
